red fishnets and a sterling silver charm
by Kanoi
Summary: THIS IS NOT A PORNO AS THE NAME MIGHT SUGGEST!!!!! SO READ IT!!!!! AND REVIEW IT PLEASE!!!!a bit of pep band story, but really focuses on my experience at regionals this year. UPDATE ON THE ME-HER POINT SITUATION, IF YOU CARE. pg13 for language
1. red fishnets and a sterling silver charm

A/N  since I write true MB stories, I'm using the names given in A Year In  
  
Hades: A True Marching Band Story.  I don't feel like telling who they are again  
  
here, so go read that!  and review it, please!  I think it's on the second page  
  
now. . .more of year in hades soon…I had to write this to get the juices going! Thanks to all four of you that reviewed it. . .more soon I promise! And thanks for using my idea for band camp chronicles! ^_^  
  
  
  
The buzzer sounded loudly - end of the game.  But the score was tied.  We were all breathless - was it possible?  Could our guys basketball team really win TWO games in ONE week (our school is better known for the girls basketball team)? As soon as we saw we might have a chance in hell at winning again, the drummer played the roll-off for our school song.  We were pumped, screaming our school's name in the appropriate spot in the song.  
  
We lost the game.  I think the band was more depressed than the team or the spectators.  I called my parents to come pick me up, but they were at a party. I didn't get home until ten from a game that ended at 8:45.  And I had an  
  
audition the next morning that I had to get up for at 5:45.  
  
My band director had asked me a few weeks earlier to be a runner for the region during the regional auditions (he's the regional director).  What he wanted was someone to get copies of music made for stuffing the folders for third alto sax with, someone to get the flute judge a diet coke, and basically a third arm.  I, of course, said yes, and then asked who else would be doing this with me.  He said no one, he only needed one person, but if I wanted someone to help me, I could ask whoever I wanted.  I knew then that he hadn't asked Melanie, or if he had, her response had probably been, "No, I'll be too busy sucking my boyfriend's tongue to help you."  So I went and told Sara.  
  
"Sara!  Guess what!  Mr. P asked me to do something special and NOT Melanie!  
  
Kanoi one, Melanie zero!"  This was a point system we had going in our heads for who had a better standing for drum major next year.  That and I had heard that Melanie said if me or Carl tried out for drum major she was quitting. . .please let it be true!  
  
"Yay!" Sara squealed.  And after math, when I saw her in the hallway, I held up one finger on one hand and no fingers on the other.  It was a good day.  
  
I woke up Saturday morning tired.  Not a good thing when you have an audition at 8:41 and have to be there an hour early.  I fell out of my bunk bed and stumbled across the hall to the bathroom.  My reflection nearly scared me.  Not all of my pep band make-up had washed off the night before - traces of my silver glitter with red glitter liner on top and bottom were dusted all over my face  
  
(only red on top is for marching season, if you've read A Year In Hades.)  
  
because glitter is very stubborn like that, and I had faint black smudges from  
  
my mascara.  I made a face and got into the shower.  
  
Our director had told us to dress nicely.  Nice for me was what I wore, but it wasn't concert-wear.  I had on my black semi-baggy jeans, a black tank top with a thin white stripe across the top, and a white Gap dress shirt, button down  
  
with 3/4 sleeve, over the black, the bottom button buttoned.  I had my  
  
concert/audition necklace on - a thin, shiny silver chain with a sterling silver  
  
charm of a concert baritone that I found at a crafts fair a year ago.  My hair  
  
was twisted up with sticks, and fluffy tufts were coming out of the top of my  
  
head in all directions.  The only touch that was truly mine was my footwear - I  
  
had shiny black clogs on, and black knee-highs with red fishnets on over them  
  
(school color).  I'm convinced that my choice in hosiery led me to success that  
  
day.  
  
After I registered, I went to the warm up room and set up my stand and played a few notes.  I saw people I knew, said hello, and looked for my competition.  Two different Arizona regions use the UofA campus for auditions, and the etudes are the same for those two regions, so I couldn't tell which baritone players were actually my competition.  I saw the first chair from last year (I was second last year after practicing for only a week) and wished him luck.  
  
Now it was time to cheat on scales.  I headed for H107, the low brass room.  I was planning to listen, and then ask whoever came out what scales had been asked for (last year they asked everyone for the same ones.).  Of course, I know all my scales, but it's always nice to brush up on double octaves of the ones being asked for.  I listened to the etudes - didn't get up to the right interval on number one, missed the E natural a few times in the second one, rhythm was weird in the third one.  Sight reading sounded easy enough, but they have different pieces if you play bass or treble clef.  I headed back to the warm-up room for one last run-through.  
  
I walked down the hall towards H107 one more time.  I saw the third chair from last year standing outside, she was a few people after me. (I wasn't sure why she wasn't still practicing.)  We talked about how prepared we were, and then my number was called.  I walked in and sat down.  Already, I had reason to be nervous - the proctor was a band parent. She smiled at me and told me to warm up.  Thank god.  I hate playing for an audition cold.  I played a few nice arpeggios, then gracefully emptied my spit valve onto the floor to indicate I was ready.  
  
Concert Ab scale.  Piece of cake. Concert G.  Okay.  Double octave, halfway down, and I blank.  What's the next fingering?!  I'm frantically trying to  
  
remember, and I finally manage to fumble my way back down the scale.  Chromatic, two and a half octaves, not bad for a brass instrument.  The top Bb was almost squeaky, but I got it out and rushed back down.  
  
I bombed my first etude.  Well, perhaps I'm being too harsh.  I was doing just fine, I had started out a bit airy because I was nervous after biffing my scales, but things were progressing nicely when disaster struck.  I did a nice  
  
little eighth note run, half note lick, when I thought to myself, "I know this lick!"  Stupidly, I looked away from the music and kept playing.  Sure, I knew that lick, but I didn't know exactly what came after it.  I got lost.  I got lost in an etude that I had been playing since August, an etude that I knew so well it was scary.  I could sing it in my freaking sleep.  Crikey.  
  
The second etude went beautifully, it was a nice little ballad-type one, that perfectly showcased the mellow sound of a euphonium/baritone.  
  
Third one I did pretty well on.  
  
Sight reading was return of the fuck-up.  I looked through it, hummed some of the rhythms in my head, checked the key signature, time, fingered a bit of it, and promptly started on the wrong pitch.  It took my like three notes to figure it out, but by then I had already established myself as a fool.  
  
I walked out of the room and kicked the wall - last year I had banged my head against it, but I figured that kicking would be less painful.  The previous  
  
first chair had gone right before me and was waiting to talk to me.  Apparently,  
  
he had had the most trouble with the second etude, which was the easiest for me. He said he thought he did okay.  I smiled, wished him luck (kind of stupid, I  
  
know, since we had both already gone) and walked away, only to promptly scratch the rim of my bell on a cement pole.  
  
I was nervous.  I had bombed my audition, I thought, and only prayed that I didn't go down a chair this year, that the music gods would at least let me hold  
  
my seat.  I had the beginnings of a splitting headache that I could tell was  
  
from stress and anxiety.  I went to the region's tabulation office, my home for  
  
the day, and asked Mr. P if he had any Tylenol or Advil.  Under his breath, and  
  
with his back turned to me, he said, "I'm not really supposed to distribute, but  
  
if you look in my briefcase pocket while my back is turned. . ."  I did.  I  
  
looked in the wrong pocket.  Palm Pilot, disks, valve oil, mouthpiece pouch.  He  
  
walked by and muttered, "Wrong one."  I pounced on the other pocket.  Excedrin  
  
Migraine.  Glory be.  I popped two and followed them with ice cold water that  
  
numbed my gums and gave me brain freeze.  
  
I was indecisive.  Did I want to know tonight, or did I want to wait until  
  
Tuesday like the rest of the region?  
  
Mr. P had me running all kinds of errands.  Around three, he sent me across the street to the 7-11 for a Super Gulp and a Twix.  When I got back, I handed him the soda and he stuck out his hand.  
  
"Congratulations," he said.  
  
"Wha. . .congratulations?"  I asked, and shook his hand.  "You mean. . .?"  
  
"First chair, Kanoi.  Good job."  
  
I squealed.  Never before in my life had I squealed; I considered it an  
  
activity reserved for my trumpet playing friend and piccolo players.  I started  
  
jumping up and down, threatening the security of my hair style.  I think Mr. P  
  
reminded me to breathe.  I jumped in circles, and when I jumped so I was facing the door in walked my tenor sax playing friend, whom we all call Stoner, even though he's not.  His 'real' name's Max.  
  
I ran towards him.  "Max!  I did it!  I got first chair!"   I hugged him, which  
  
I had really never done before, and it was weird, because behind him was the  
  
girl he went to winter formal with, but oh well.  "I can't believe it!  I'm first chair!"  
  
"That's awesome, Kanoi!  Good job!"  
  
I could hear his, um, friend (no one in the school is really sure what they  
  
are) say, "Max?  What?"  
  
"First chair, Amanda.  She just found out."  
  
"Oh!"  Amanda smiled at me.  "Congrats!"  
  
"Kanoi?"  Mr. P was calling me.  "Can you do some work now, please?"  
  
"Sure, no problem, Mr. P."  
  
I was sorting the sections that were already finished auditioning, taking the piles of score sheets and writing the top names on music folders.  
  
Mr. P walked up behind me.  "Next year you're *doing* solo-ensemble."  
  
"Okay. . ."  I said, floating.  Right then I could have agreed to just about  
  
anything.  As I was sorting through the baritone score sheets, I could barely  
  
believe what I saw.  Not only did I beat last year's first chair, but he had  
  
actually placed third - the real second chair chose choir instead of band.  I  
  
can't wait to tell him he got beat by a choir boy and a chick. . .  
  
  
  
Melanie didn't get in.  Last year she made fourth and last chair oboe, this  
  
year she missed it.  I felt her glaring at me all day during class the day Mr. P  
  
announced the results.  
  
Kanoi two, Melanie zero. 


	2. little thingy, not related to story

Sorry for the weird format. . .i dunno why it did that, but I don't feel like fixing it. . .it's still readable, tho, so I hope you enjoy it! 


	3. Kanoi Three, Melanie Zero!

Eep! For those of you keeping track of the "points" between me and Melanie, it is now three to zero (I think)! Today before evening sectionals Mr. P asked me to come to his office. He said that he was nominating me to take part in the Global Young Leaders Conference in Washington, DC or New York this summer. Obviously, he's got to think pretty highly of my skills to ask me to do this. I dunno if he's asked Melanie also, but if he has, it's still three for me and only one for her! So when I saw Sara after sectionals, I just said, "Sara! BTB! Three-zero!" BTB is code for Bake the Bitch, because evil drum major's last name is Baker and this was when we had a secret society to try to get rid of her during marching season, so when I say BTB Sara knows I'm talking about Melanie. Today she was walking around the band room with four fucking oboe reeds stuck in her mouth. I said to Sara, "Could she have any more reeds stuck in her mouth?" Sara smiled and said, "She's probably just  
getting ready for the dick." This is funnier if you know Sara and how absolutely straight she is and how that was so out of character for her. Anyway, probably the only updates you'll see to this story are point updates. Love ya all! 


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